Working Backward
by JennyJoy4
Summary: Sir Gwaine awakens in a strange castle and has trouble piecing together the train of events that brought him there.
1. Chapter 1

He heard nothing; all was silent, as if his ears had been stuffed with wool. But sometimes the darkness cleared for a moment and he saw dim scenes.

There were a number of people, men and women, around what he distantly recognized to be his own body. They were moving around busily, but they made no sound to his wool-stuffed ears. A young woman with brown hair and a frown of concentration was bending over what must be his leg, though he could feel nothing. His limbs jerked, and she looked up into his eyes for a moment, then called and gestured to two men. The men came and held him down, and she attended to his leg once more. The silence roared in his ears and everything went black again.

The roar lowered itself to a monotonous hum, and he saw the young woman, closer this time, laying a cloth on his forehead and his cheeks. Her mouth was moving, but he heard nothing but the hum.

All was black again. He did not realize he had been drinking water until he choked on it and began to cough. The hum was gone, and though the room was quiet, it was not quiet with the oppressive silence of the wool stuffing.

"Drink some more," a quiet voice instructed him and he did so, opening his eyes to see the same concerned face bending over his. He did not know that she had been supporting his head with cool fingers until she laid it back down on the pillow and removed those fingers from his hair.

Gwaine stared up at the wooden ceiling above his bed. The room was dim, but not dark as it would be at night. It was unfamiliar; it was not his own room in the castle at Camelot.

"Where am I?" he said quietly, the raspy sound of his own voice startling him.

"In Pencraig Castle," the woman answered, coming back into his line of vision.

"How…?" He couldn't find the energy to finish the sentence, but the woman understood the question.

"You came to our gate two days ago to beg lodging for the night," she answered.

He could remember it now. It was as if a door that had stood between his present and his past were opened and he could see through it once more—at least, to a certain distance.

He had been wounded in the right leg, he had lost his horse, and he had limped far in the growing gloom to escape his distant pursuers. The afternoon had been gray and dark and wet; his arming coat and his trousers were soaked through, and the ground was slick with mud. He had limped across a river to throw off his pursuers, he had limped up hills covered in bracken that tore at his face and hair and caught in his hauberk, and now he was nearing the end of his strength. The length of cloth he had tied tightly around his thigh was turning as crimson as the cloak he had lost long before. The sun was going down and the gray was turning to bluish-black when he looked up and saw the most welcome sight his eyes had ever fallen upon: a castle, with light in the windows.

He clambered up the last bank and limped heavily across the last field to pound on the heavy wooden door between twin turrets. It seemed an eternity until the doorwarden opened it. Gwaine leaned on the doorframe.

"Who are you and what is your business here?"

He could barely raise his head to look at the man. "My name is Sir Gwaine of Camelot. I come to beg lodging for the night."

A muttered conversion followed between the warden and another guard. Gwaine sagged a little against the doorframe.

"What is the trouble, Ostiar?" A woman's voice. "If that is a guest for the feast, bid him come in."

Gwaine took the opportunity to step out of the drizzle and into the entryway, which was cheerfully lit. He looked up at the women he judged, from her tone of command, to be the lady of the house.

"Madam," he said, bowing, "my name is Sir Gwaine of Camelot, and I come to beg lodging for the night."

"Camelot is our ally. You are very welcome to Pencraig, Sir Gwaine," the woman said. "Geoffrey, prepare a room for our guest. You will join us for the feast, I hope?" she added, turning back to him.

The world had begun to turn black, and Gwaine could no longer feel his body—not even the burning in his leg. "I thank you," he said falteringly, and his memory stopped there.

Even now, with the lady bending over him, his vision was becoming dark once more. "Are you hungry, Sir Gwaine?" someone asked, but the darkness was taking over again, and he did not have the energy to answer.

"Sir Gwaine?"

The pleasant hum began again.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

Gwaine opened his eyes. He couldn't tell how long he had been asleep; he only knew that he felt less exhausted than before. There was an ache in his leg, but it wasn't the burning pain he had experienced on his journey to Pencraig.

To his surprise, Gwaine realized that the humming noise he associated with his unconsciousness was still present in the room. Slowly he turned his head on the pillow and saw a young woman sitting in the corner of the room at a spinning wheel, which hummed pleasantly as she turned her clump of wool into thread.

The woman glanced up and Gwaine saw that it was the lady of the house, the one with whom he had spoken before. Seeing that he was awake, she immediately stopped the wheel and approached the bed.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Hungry," he answered with a smile. Most of the raspy sound was gone from his voice.

She smiled back. "Then you must eat. I will have something brought up directly."

Gwaine shifted to pull himself up into a sitting position, and a jolt of pain shot through his leg. He froze and gasped through gritted teeth.

"Careful!" the woman said, laying a hand on his arm. "I'll send someone in to help you."

She left the room, and a minute later a young man came in. "Good afternoon, Sir. My name is Gareth," he said. "Let me give you a hand, there."

Gareth helped Gwaine sit up to attend to necessary tasks, then settled him comfortably against the headboard with a pillow behind him.

"Thank you, Gareth," Gwaine said, ungritting his teeth as the pain in his leg diminished. "You have very gentle hands for a man."

Gareth looked up quickly, but when he saw Gwaine regarding him with a cheeky smile he gave a short laugh.

The door opened as if on cue, and the lady came in with a lap table, followed by a maid, who placed a tray of food before Gwaine on the table, gave a curtsey, and left.

Gwaine discovered, to his chagrin, that even the effort of sitting up with Gareth's help had left him tired and shaky—though he hoped that the thick stew that he spooned up with a trembling hand would eventually help with that.

He was glad to find that the lady, perhaps recognizing his embarrassment at his weakness, did not watch him eat, but left him alone with Gareth. The young man drew back the curtains of one of the windows, and the warm golden sunlight of an autumn afternoon poured into the room.

"How long have I been here?"

"Four nights and three days," Gareth answered, pulling the lady's stool away from her spinning wheel and sitting down with his back against the wall and his legs stretched comfortably before him.

"Three days?" Gwaine nearly dropped the spoon.

"You had a fever," Gareth explained. "We were rather worried about you for awhile. But the fever broke early this morning, so Lady Morvydda thinks you're on the mend."

"Morvydda—is that the lady of the castle?"

Gareth nodded. "The lady, and half the lord," he replied, dropping his voice. "Her father, Urien, is Lord of Pencraig, and he is living still, but bedfast. He does as much of his duty as he can from his bedchamber, but Lady Morvydda is in charge of most of the day-to-day administration of Pencraig."

"And in charge of taking care of wounded strays," Gwaine replied. "I'm afraid I've inconvenienced her quite a lot."

"Oh, I took over for her during the night, and she had other servants to help," Gareth reassured him. "I'm sure she would tell you not to trouble yourself: she never complains."

Gwaine felt very tired all of a sudden, and he put down his spoon. "I'm afraid I'm going to inconvenience you some more, but I don't think I can keep my eyes open much longer."

Gareth got up immediately to take away the lap tray. "That's an unusual ring," he commented. "Was it a gift?"

Gwaine stared down at the heavy silver ring on the middle finger of his left hand, with its round black stone and its intricate band. "I—I don't remember," he said, frowning at it. "In fact… I don't remember this ring at all."

"You're tired, Sir," Gareth said in a brisk, reassuring tone. "I'm sure it'll come back to you when you've gotten enough rest." He helped Gwaine to lie back down and arranged the blankets. "Sleep now, and you can think about it when you're feeling better."

"Thank you, Gareth," Gwaine managed sleepily as his eyes closed.

"No trouble at all, Sir."

**TBC**

**AN:** Before anybody looks it up, spinning wheels are anachronistic for the Arthurian legend. But then, so is the architecture of Pierrefond Castle, and the tomatoes and potatoes they're always throwing at Merlin when he's in the stocks. So I feel no guilt.

**Please review!**


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